


In the Dark

by enviouspride



Series: OTP: Fix You [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Feelings, M/M, Post Haven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:11:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enviouspride/pseuds/enviouspride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing Haven is hard on everyone, no one more so than Leonid.  Basten seeks to make life at least a little easier out in the cold world.</p>
<p>A prompt fill for: 'Nap'</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark

Losing Haven is hard on everyone.  They all stumble through the snow on tired feet, unknowing where the nearest respite might be.  The Herald’s advisors stop often to minimize casualties in the ranks, many are still wounded.  There’s still the matter of losing the Herald for everyone to come to terms with – it’s difficult on the dedicated Andrastians just as much as it is on the unbelieving.  They’ve lost a symbol of hope, perhaps the only thing that could right the world.  

 

It's understandably hard on everyone.

 

Leonid seems to be taking it just as hard, if not harder than most.  He’s quieter than usual, drinking just as much but with less gambling and shouting at soldiers over a tankard.  He’s irritable too, not that he wasn’t before – more so now, volatile.  

 

He’s stayed close to Basten’s side, much to Basten’s confusion.  He’s stayed respectfully quiet about it, thinks it’s probably not the best time to bring it up.  It may never be the right time, but it's still noteworthy for Basten. Warms his heart even, if he's being generous.

 

Basten _did_ save Leonid’s life after he’d run out of arrows at Haven.  Basten remembers – it’s only a few days gone – so clear in his mind, Leonid stabbing wildly at the gap in the red Templar’s armour his knife sunk deep and splashes of red blood landing across his face.  His eyes wide, panicked.  The panic only heightened with Basten charging up behind him to take out the Templar with her weapon ready to dart forward and snuff out Leonid’s life.  True, she almost caught Basten’s throat when his head and horns slammed into her helm – the ice magic that Basten threw out held the sword a good inch away from his neck.  The image of that Templar crumpled in her suit when Basten threw her to the ground, still clear in his memory, his spectral hammer glowing to life between his fingers to strike the final blow.

 

The memory is vivid – of Leonid, eyes wide and glassy with tears – Haven must have shaken up Basten as much as Leonid after all.  A few mercenaries from Kata-Meraad had taken off when the red Templars stormed down the mountains, like a black cloud on the horizon, Basten’s glad most were better than that.  With the situation more dire than ever, the Inquisition needs as many people as they can find.

 

Now they’re here wherever _here_ is, with no Herald of Andraste and no purpose to speak of.

 

They stop moving some time after midday, a few of the wounded need to be treated still.  And some still have hope, hope that if they don’t move too far away from Haven that the Herald might find them – that the Herald isn’t dead at all.  Basten isn’t sure about that, mountains collapsing on top of you tend to be rather… life ending.  Kubrasan voiced much the same concern to Commander Cullen – who simply stared at her with an incredulous look.   _The Herald will come back to us_ , he says it like a mantra.  Only time will tell who’s right.

 

Basten tucks himself away in his tent, too clumsy to be of any real help with the healers.  Other soldiers are scouting the surrounding area or else trying to lighten up the mood with drinks and song.  Perhaps later he’ll join them.

 

“– _tall, apostate.  Of course he’s a Qunari.  The question was have you seen him?_ ”  

 

The voice is muffled through the thick fabric of the tent, but it’s unmistakeable who the voice belongs to.  Basten clambers to his knees, pulls back the opening to the tent and pokes his head through.  Leonid looks exhausted, shoulders hunched and dark bruises framing his eyes.

 

“You’re looking for _this_ particularly dashing Qunari?”  Basten says, watching the corner of Leonid’s mouth curl into a smile – however small a smile it may be.

 

“I can’t believe that you got your own tent, somehow managed to get out of _scouting_ this blighted frozen wasteland and, now I can’t stress this enough, that you got your own tent and _didn’t think to let me know about it._ ”  Leonid shoulders his way past Basten into the tent and pulls a blanket around himself immediately.  He’s shivering, snow flaking through his hair and covering his leathers.  He pulls it as tightly as he can manage with numb fingers.

 

“I would’ve made you aware of this, had you not been otherwise occupied with at least four different soldiers over the past few nights,” he says, wry smirk spreading across his features.

 

Leonid throws him a glare, one that loses all of its weight when Basten wraps his arms around Leonid and presses them close – Leonid’s back flush against Basten’s chest, Basten’s legs spread wide to Leonid’s sides.

 

It’s a hug borne from efficiency, though Basten can’t deny that he enjoys it a little more than it is just _efficient_.  The weight of Leonid against him is one he’s become – accustomed to but this is something _different_ , he feels the soft rise and fall of Leonid’s chest against his arms.  A confirmation that he’s _alive_ and _safe_.  Basten holds him close until the shivering subsides, checking that the blanket is tight against his form.

 

“There was also one of your mercs,” Leonid says around a smile, he turns to lock eyes with Basten head leaning against one of his shoulders.  “Can’t remember his name… mentioned you were a pretty good lay.  Of course, it was _my_ praises he was singing by the end of the night.”

 

Basten chuckles, resting his chin atop Leonid’s head.  “We can’t all be as good as you,” he murmurs.  There’s a tickle of Leonid’s hair against his chin, and a scented smell still lingers on him – like sandalwood and strawberries.

 

“Not everyone can be as good as you,” he murmurs, trying to tamp down the smile that’s threatening to spread.

 

Leonid lets out a small ‘hm’, “true enough,” he says.  It’s quiet after that, only the occasional mumbling from outside and the sighs of their breath inside.

 

It’s not long before Basten hears it, the heavier rhythmic breathing.  Leonid’s hands loosen on the blankets, drawing in towards his chest.  His head leans into the crook of Basten’s shoulder, his silver hair making a curtain over one side of his face, legs drawing to one side.

 

Basten grins and draws Leonid closer, his arms a defence one to keep them safe.  Clearly, the rest of him has become a giant pillow for Leonid – not that he minds, the warmth and weight of him is comforting, as it has been since that very first night they’d spent together.

  
It’s sweet, to watch Leonid in this moment – vulnerable and uncaring – one could almost forget the biting comments and sarcasm whilst watching him sleep.


End file.
